


For Now You're My Little Bitch

by Pimento



Series: Destiel based around episodes [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bottom Dean, Breathplay, Canon Compliant, Dom Castiel, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, PWP, Sub Dean, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5510753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow on from Season 5 Ep 03: Free to Be You and Me.</p><p>Cas and Dean have trapped Raphael with angel fire.</p><p> I will find you Castiel,”  Raphael’s threat was all the more sinster, for the quiet way he delivered it.<br/>“Maybe, one day,”  Castiel said turning to leave, “but for today, you’re my little bitch.”</p><p>Dean gets more than he bargains for when he agrees to help Castiel trap Raphael...</p><p> </p><p>  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I owe you

“Do not leave me here Castiel, I'm warning you. I will find you Castiel,” Raphael’s threat was all the more sinster, for the quiet way he delivered it.

“Maybe, one day,” Castiel said turning to leave, “but for today, you’re my little bitch.”

Dean swallowed, and stared after Castiel with new respect. It was the single coolest thing he had ever heard the angel say or do, and the thrill of it was pulsing through him. He looked back at Raphael, face glowering in the flicker of the holy oil flames. “What he said.” He added, before realising quite how dumb he sounded and scampering after Castiel.

He half expected Castiel to be gone. To be told that far from being resurrected by God, you had been pulled back together by Lucifer, just so he could use you to cause more trouble for the heavenly hoard, was way up there on the reasons to go awol as far as Dean was concerned.

But the sombre trench coated figure was sat patiently in the car, face set as stone, seemingly not noticing the moisture running from his hair and clinging in damp little beads to his face and neck. Dean climbed in beside him. He gunned the ignition and set them on the road back to the motel, snatching quick glances whenever he could, worried by the silent impassive face.

“Pay attention to the road,” Castiel said quietly, as the Impala weaved a little as Dean over corrected a twitch of the wheel.

Dean could not resist another look, and it was enough as far as Castiel was concerned. “Pull over.”

“Huh?”

“I said, pull over.”

“But…”

“If you want to gaze at me adoringly, pull over. If you want to keep driving and get to the motel so you can do more than gaze, stop sneaking a peek every five seconds. Your choice, but make it quick, before I zap out of here to stop you giving Raphael an early revenge by killing yourself and destroying my vessel and ‘baby’ in a fiery ball of retribution.”

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles flexing white as he processed, he swallowed, consciously relaxed his tense jawline, and pursed his lips, stifling the sentence forming in his mind, before he could vocalise it and drop himself into a whole world of trouble. How the hell did Cas do that? How did he know? And how could he be unworldly geek angel getting thrown out of a brothel one minute, and then the Fonz in wings the next?

He became very conscious that Cas had very deliberately turned his head and was looking directly at him now. He felt his own cheeks flush under the scrutiny.

“Uncomfortable isn’t it.” The gravelly voice observed. “To be watched. Now concentrate on the road, and get us back to the motel.” Cas slowly turned his head returning smoothly, almost robotically, to a neutral position staring at the road ahead.

Dean’s mind was reeling now, was Cas suggesting what he thought he was suggesting? Was he so obvious? At what point had it come to this? He shifted awkwardly, the confines of his jeans causing him considerable discomfort. He hitched the crotch away to lessen the pressure. His breath froze in his throat, hand smarting, as Cas slapped his fingers away. The burning in his cheeks focussed into high spots of pure red heat, so he hunkered down slightly, concentrating on the texture of the leather of the steering wheel pressing into his hands and the bright pool of light where the front beams crossed on the road ahead.

The parking lot was empty, the lights of the motel sign reflecting in the dark puddles on the asphalt. Dean coasted baby into a spot near his room and turned off the ignition, trying very hard to appear nonchalant, but he suspected that Cas could sense his pounding heart.

He climbed out of the car, and stood for a moment hunting for the room key in his pocket, before ducking back down, only to realise that Cas had gone. He slapped the roof of the car in frustration, looked about him and opened the trunk to grab his bag. Dammit Cas! He had flipped open his phone, and was listening to his messages as he put his key in the door and walked through it, only for it to fly out of his hand as he was grabbed, arm twisted high up his back and forced face down onto the bed.

He fought back momentarily until he recognised the familiar combination, the musky scent of Castiel’s body, and the tang of ozone that seemed to cling to him temporarily each time he materialised.

He squirmed under the tight grip, enjoying the sensation of being pressed into the bed, with a knee in his back, and the angle of his wrist just the right side of painful, held in a vice like grip. He closed his eyes and brought his other hand up off the bed in a gesture of surrender.

The jagged rasp of a cuff clipping over his free wrist, caused a surge of adrenalin, like a cold internal shower. In seconds, he lay faced down, with both wrists behind him, one hand gradually developing pins and needles as the blood flow returned.

“Cas, you kinky bastard, who knew?”

“Always with the smart-ass comments,” Cas growled. “You think I don’t notice, but…Dean admit it...” he strained to pull away, as a handful of his hair was grabbed firmly, twisting his face round until he was eyeball to eyeball with Castiel, the words tickling his ear, and the heat of Cas’ breathing rifling the wispy edges of his hairline. “...you want to be my little bitch, too.”

With that Cas slammed his face back down onto the bed, pushing on the back of his head so the covers smothered his nose and face, he struggled, arousal raging through him. His lungs bursting for air. His vision began to explode with a thousand tiny stars, as the oxygen in his blood diminished. Only when he was almost blacking out did Cas relinquish his grip on the back of his head and allow him to gasp for air.

He lay panting and not daring to move, feeling a sticky warmth in his shorts, he longed to frot against the bed, anything to relieve the pressure and need. But then Cas would see, and he stubbornly wanted to hide it, even though they both knew damn well what was going on.

Impatiently, Cas rolled him onto his back, eyes narrowing. “Move up the bed.”

Dean felt his own face contort, tight-lipped he shook his head. Obstinately sitting upright, and fiddling with the cuffs behind his back.

He was rewarded with a stinging slap to his cheek. “I said MOVE, dammit.”

Castiel had a curious look on his face, half anger, half amusement. Dean wriggled backwards, inching himself up the bed towards the head board, twisting the bed clothes underneath him. His cheek was smarting, he could feel the heat emanating from the slap.

He stared at Castiel, breathing slowing back to a normal rate. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his head felt fuzzy from the combination of adrenaline and lack of oxygen. "I'm not going to lie to you Dean, today has been extraordinary. I'm grateful that you came with me, I know you find angels intimidating, despite all your bravado. I asked you for help and you gave it, but you've been pushing my buttons for three whole days, because deep down you want this, and because I owe you for today, I'm going to give you what you've been asking for everytime our paths have crossed."


	2. Apple pie and a subscription to Busty Asian Babes

“Apple pie and a subscription to Busty Asian Babes?”

Castiel grabbed a handful of the short hair, yanking Dean’s head back, closing his other hand over Dean’s mouth, thumb and forefinger pinching nostrils closed. Dean struggled to breathe through the restriction, as Cas glared at him, faces so close Dean felt the burn in his eyes as he tried to bring the deep blue eyes into focus. “You may know your way round a brothel Dean, but I know my way around your mind.”

Dean fought briefly before giving in, Cas was considerably stronger than him, despite his comparatively smaller frame. He held eye contact, but his vision was blackening, and only as he started to slump did Cas relinquish his grip, lungs bursting, Dean drew long ragged breaths.

He leant back against the bed frame, panting hard, fighting the mild panic at his own vulnerability, which only seemed to add to his arousal. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cas closed soft lips over his own and he found himself breathless for the third time in as many minutes. He moaned softly in spite of himself, and Cas chuckled, the cocky bastard actually chuckled. Dean felt himself getting angry, all his frustration, always just below the surface, boiling over.

He wanted to scream and rage at all the angels, Zachariah, Raphael, Lucifer, Michael… all the sons of bitches and their manipulative ways. He pulled hard against the cuffs enjoying the bite in the flesh of his wrists, feeling them cut and bruise. Physical pain was real and present and in his own control.

“Stop it,” Cas’ voice was calm, authoritative, “stop right now.” He stroked the twitching cheek. Dean glared at Cas, stared at him defiantly, straight in the eye, and very slowly and deliberately snatched his wrists against the metal again, the wince as the sharp edges cut deeper almost imperceptible. The backhander caught him by surprise, sending a cascade of tiny fireworks through his vision. “I...said…stop.” Cas’ voice was barely more than a whisper. “You will not hurt yourself like that. The flying assbutts…” Castiel’s face remained dead pan, but the eye contact remained unbroken and Dean thrilled at the spark he saw deep in the crystalline blue, “…are not worth it.”

Castiel leaned in again, his voice a drawl. “So, little bitch,” his voice had a direct and open line to Dean’s erogenous zones, “what’s it to be?” The rough fingers stroked his bruised cheek, tenderly, and it was that tenderness that was his undoing. Tears prickled in the moss green eyes, the pain of Sam’s betrayal, surging like a wave, extinguishing the anger he felt and leaving him suddenly bereft. His head dropped, trying again, pointlessly, unsuccessfully to hide from Cas.

“You’re wasting your time, Dean. I can see inside you, I can see your rage, your confusion, your guilt and your hurt, but I can also see what you want… and what you need.” Gentle fingers curled under his chin and pushed his head back up, and those penetrating blue eyes drilled into him, seeking permission for the first time. He paused for a solitary heartbeat, before nodding his assent.

Castiel knelt astride him, and with his hand firmly gripping Dean’s neck, tilting his head back, as he released one cuff. “Jacket and shirt off,” he ordered. They locked gazes, as Dean briefly, fleetingly thought about fighting back. He knew damn well he would pay for it in the long run, and Cas was right, deep down his conflicted psyche wanted this.

He realised he had tensed his free hand into a fist, just as Cas’ lips closed over his own, and his fist opened, both hands dropping flat onto the bed behind him to keep himself upright as the kneeling angel grabbed his lapels and kissed him. Considering how terrified he had looked in the brothel less than 24 hours ago, Castiel was no slouch. Dean felt himself melting into the softest and subtlest of explorations. The confines of his pants were painful now. He groaned into Cas’ mouth, and was rewarded with a sharp little nip of his bottom lip as Cas pulled back. The blue of his eyes darkened with arousal, Cas shook his head knowing that Dean was about to speak.

“Off,” the word was barely audible, but he felt himself complying shirking his jacket off and dropping it to the floor before raising his shirt above his head. The scratch of sharp finger nails from his neck over the sensitive raised nub of his nipple and down over his stomach, drew a curse and he tangled himself in his shirt, because of the cuff still attached to one wrist. Cas ripped the shirt away.

“Cas, I…” before he could finish the sentence, Cas kissed him again, tongue meeting tongue, shared heat intoxicating, sending jolts of ecstasy straight to his groin. He reached up intending to run his fingers through the thick dark hair and pull Cas closer, but Cas firmly grasped his arm and refastened the cuffs, smiling at the murmured protest without breaking the contact of lip on lip.

He drew back, pushing the now topless Dean away from him, resting on his heels and gave Dean an appraising look. He was leant awkwardly on his elbows, shoulders and head bunched against the bedstead, lips bee stung from kissing, hair mussed up, breathing heavily, with an all too obvious bulge in his pants.

Seemingly satisfied with what he saw Cas said, “Rules, Dean. I say it, you do it. You don’t lie and you don’t try to hide. If it hurts and you need me to stop you say ‘Impala’. You break the rules, I’m gone, no second chances. Agreed?”

Dean stared at Cas, lost for words. If he didn’t know better he’d assume demonic possession…maybe a shapeshifter… Strong fingers swiftly tweaked a nipple, leaving a sharp pinch with the intensity of a hornet sting. “Agreed?”

This time he nodded, eyes wide, head spinning, stomach knotting…‘if it hurts…?’ He glanced briefly around the room, before his head snapped back to Cas with a puzzled, questioning look as his brain caught up… ‘IMPALA’. “You’re making me use my baby as a safe word?” he blurted.

Cas stared back impassively, not a hint of irony or humour showing in his face, until Dean looked into the eyes, and there it was again, that hint of mischief, buried deep in the blue. “Man, I wish you’d play poker?” Dean murmured, shaking his head.

This time the pinching fingers stayed, the pain building and intensifying. “OK, OK, agreed,” he winced as the pain diminished, “although strictly speaking, I don’t think you can gain consent, while torturing me, you... oh Jesus…”

Cas had leant in again to kiss him, only this time he had very deliberately put his hand on the mattress between Dean’s thighs and was using his forearm to apply pressure to the straining denim as he closed in for the kiss. There was nothing subtle or gentle about it this time, it was bruising, brutal and full of need. Dean was pinned like a butterfly to a board.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas broke the contact and stepped away, leaving Dean panting on the bed. He squirmed slightly, his wrists itching and smarting where the cuffs had broken the skin. He tried unsuccessfully to shift himself, easing the strain, little goosebumps forming on his tanned skin in the sudden absence of Cas’ body heat. He licked his lips nervously, feeling awkward and uncertain, but brazening it out as usual.

The thrill of the raw power that Cas was exuding was exhilarating and he was buzzing with the heady mix of fear and anticipation, in spite of himself.

Cas had turned his back, the hunched trenchcoat was creased and still damp from the earlier rainstorm. He shrugged it off and began rolling up his sleeves. He stood in the half light, removing his tie and loosening the collar of the surprisingly crisp white shirt. “Stand,” he growled as he turned back, tie hanging loosely in his hand. Dean scrambled round, pushing himself awkwardly to his feet, blushing at his own eager compliance, he tried to regain some of his defiance by staring Cas down. It failed and as Cas moved closer to him, invading his space, warm breath blowing across his cheek, he lost his nerve and his eyes slid away.

He bit his lip, as Cas flicked the tie casually over his head, it draped over his bare shoulders, the end brushed lightly over the sensitive nub of one bruised and tingling nipple. The green eyes blew wide as Cas pulled the tie around his mouth, parting the pouting lips, and wrapping it twice around before tying it tightly in place.

Cas reached down, so achingly close that rough tousled hair tickled Dean’s cheek and chin, and began unbuckling Dean’s belt. He looked up and captured Dean’s eyes briefly, before slowly and deliberately hooking his fingers into the belt loops, hitching the jeans higher, watching for a reaction. The denim pulled between Dean’s legs and he stretched onto his toes reflexively, gasping slightly at the delicious sensation of tightness. He swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing, acutely aware of the flush spreading from his neck into his cheeks, his face burning with humiliation, there was no hiding his own reaction to Cas’ proximity. The blue eyes narrowed, no hint of a smile on the soft lips.

He closed his eyes, only to find Cas grabbing his hair and yanking his head back again. “Did I tell you, you could close your eyes? If I want you unseeing, I will blindfold you. Look at me.”

Dean moaned behind the makeshift gag, growling at his own weakness, he loved the feel of Cas’ hand in his hair, the raw controlling brutality of it. His jawline tightened and he glared at Cas. They stood, neither yielding, Cas keeping a firm grip of the handful of hair, his other hand relaxed and loosely holding the buckle of Dean’s belt. The passive face, waiting patiently for Dean to submit once more. “I watched the dinosaurs come and go, Dean, you really think you can out stare me?” With that he flexed his fingers, massaging the stubbly hair, firm, but gentle.

The internal dilemma played across the angular face, and the soft green eyes slid shut only briefly, before Dean sighed and relaxed his stance again. Cas pulled the belt free in one smooth movement and dropped it onto the bed. He popped the brass fly button and eased the jeans down slowly over Dean’s hips, revealing a pair of black shorts. Dean flexed his hands, feeling the brush of his own knuckles against his buttocks through the soft jersey. He swallowed again, throat tight, struggling to keep his composure, a constant battle in his own mind, between what he wanted to happen and what he wanted to deny.

Cas prowled slowly around him, pushing the bunched jeans to his ankles. “Lift your foot,” he purred, gripping the fabric, “and the other.” The pants were thrown to the corner, joining his shirt in a sad crumpled little heap. Dean concentrated on controlling his own breathing, and resisting his natural instinct to fight, the urge to use his feet to knock Cas on his ass was almost overwhelming. He knew that realistically he could not harm Cas, but his whole life had been about carrying on fighting, regardless. His strength lay in the fact that he never gave in, and holy shit, this felt like giving in.

He stood in his stockinged feet and shorts, muscular shoulders squared, head straight, the only indication of any discomfort the set of his jaw and the occasional twitch of his facial muscles. It would almost be easier if Cas was more brutal, if he forced him, or moved quicker, instead of this steady, patient break down of his defences. One slow step at a time, he’d given his permission once goddammit, did he have to make him say yes over and over again?

He could hear Cas moving behind him, doing something to the bed, or under the bed. “Eyes front, Dean.” Had he sensed his temptation to look? “I can read you Dean, I’ve always been able to read you, I might not understand your references and I know it makes you feel superior to assume that I am … unsophisticated, to laugh at my unworldliness, but, does it not occur to you that your need to provoke me, to make this a fight is just so you can feel like you deserve it, and that way you don’t have to admit to yourself that you want it…”

Cas paused, pushing him onto his knees, bending him over the bed, pulling the cuffs upwards raising his hands higher up his back, before punctuating each word with a swift smack of what he assumed must be his own belt across his buttocks,  
“I,” it stung sharply, and smarted afterwards,  
“know,” each blow catching the wane of the one before,  
“you,” he breathed hard,  
“better” the heat began to radiate  
“than” he groaned slightly,  
“you” the blows were getting harder,  
“know,” the last two were the hardest yet, a straight hard line across the sweet spot just below his curved cheeks, delivered in quick succession to the rythym of the word,  
“your...self.”

His shorts were pulled down over the curve of his ass, he felt them snag and tug on his erection, sending little shockwaves of pleasure that counteracted the pain. The hand that ran over his buttocks felt oddly cool, compared to the burning sensation of his own skin. The pain was nothing compared to the things he had endured over the years, but somehow it hit him far more deeply than being burnt with a poker, or torn apart in hell. He knelt here, almost naked, handcuffed, submissive and emotionally vulnerable in a cheap motel room and all because he wanted it and they both knew it.

He closed his eyes again , burying his face in the bedclothes, strong fingers grabbed his chin, pulling his head back upright. He knelt leaning against the edge of the bed and surrendered into the cupped hand, greedy for the affection. A warm thumb stroked away a tear he had not even noticed escaping his eye.


	4. Open Your Eyes, Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shameless smut... :-D

“Open your eyes, Dean” the rusty voice was exceptionally gentle.

He swallowed hard, opening his eyes, saliva soaking into the dark blue material of the tie. He flinched at the sudden movement as Castiel, without relinquishing the contact with his face dropped himself onto the edge of the bed, leaving Dean kneeling on the floor between his thighs as he sat astride him. 

Cas gripped him either side of his face, making the eye contact last. It was definitely a terribly old cliché, but Dean felt sure he would drown in the blue of those eyes, or at least lose part of himself, he began to shiver, his eyes flicking as he tried desperately to read the expression on Cas’ face. 

So much passed between them, he was stripped bare, physically and emotionally, all temptation to wise crack or deflect gone and the intensity of the experience was dropping his body into something like shock. His eyes dropped and he let the lids close over them slowly, easing the tears that had gathered through his lashes onto his cheeks.

The tie was slipped from his mouth and it felt surprisingly heavy where it rested on his sternum. The kiss this time was soft, affectionate and tender. He gasped in spite of himself, as he felt a surge of pure joy fill and lift him. He fought against the invasion of comfort and warmth, his body stiffening automatically as he panicked and recoiled, at once soothed and frightened by the feeling. 

He struggled briefly, but Cas’ grip was firm, fingertips flexing into his scalp, sliding through his hair. He suddenly became hyper-aware, feeling everything at once, the tingling in his scalp, the heat radiating from Cas, from his chest, and through the fabric of his trousers, which was softly brushing his elbows. The roughness of the carpet under his knees and toes, the lingering sting in his buttocks and the cold sharp pain in his wrists, as the cuffs caught on the broken skin. 

Gradually, the musky smell of Cas’ skin and the soft brush of those pink chapped lips against his own, pushed all the other sensations away. Until all that mattered was the sweet taste of Cas’ mouth on his own. The rough bobbly feel of his tongue as it rasped along the line of his lips and then pushed gently for access. He gave in to it, tilting his head, hungry for more, leaning into Cas with a soft moan of pleasure. He sighed with disappointment as Cas drew back, breaking contact and dropping his hands away from his face. Palms resting warm and soft on his shoulders, the brush of his fingertips agonisingly fleeting on the skin over his shoulder blades.

Dean ran his own tongue along his lips which were humming slightly with the echo of the kiss and the lingering taste something like honey. He opened his eyes slowly and felt his heart surge. Cas was staring at him with an expression which was half wonder and half smugness, his head cocked to one side in that curious bird like gesture he made sometimes, as if he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Dean sniffed, his nose and throat salty and burning from the tears he had shed and yet, he was still deeply aroused, the insistent throbbing ache drawing his attention, now that he no longer had Cas’ mouth and that surging, pulsating sense of connection to occupy him. He swallowed and stared at the flowers on the motel bedspread, where it hung over the edge and brushed the floor. They were cornflowers… blue like those eyes… dammit, everything led back to Cas...

“Tell me,” Cas said quietly, cutting through his thoughts, “what you want. I know, but I want you to tell me. I want you to say it aloud.”

Dean shook his head mutely, unable to vocalise the need. He wanted to touch and be touched, he wanted more of that kiss, but he was damned if he was going to ask for it. It was easier to be gagged, to be pushed, to be forced down, desperate for air, to have something to fight against. Why was Cas doing this to him?

Cas tipped Dean’s chin up with the crook of his forefinger, trailing the back of his fingers down over the muscles of his arms, setting a chain reaction of goose bumps like static everywhere they floated. All the while those penetrating blue eyes stared him down. “Tell me,” it was little more than a whisper, but the tone held command.

Dean shook his head, feeling a little miserable. “I…can’t,” he muttered quietly, focussing on the wispy tendrils of dark hair, where they brushed Cas forehead, avoiding the direct gaze of his eyes. He found himself longing to run his hands through it, to feel the softness of it in the webbing between his fingers, which curled reflexively on their own, sending a small piquant twinge of pain, as he pressed against his own heated and bruised skin. 

“I won’t force you, Dean. If you want it, you are going to have to ask for it,” and with that Cas folded his hands into his lap. One eyebrow raised, in challenge, the rest of his face placid. Dean felt a surge of desperation, tinged with irritation. Torn between his arousal at that cocked eyebrow and the hint of scorn, and his hard-wired resistance to expressing any emotion. “All you have to do is admit what you want. Out loud.” Cas said softly, earning himself a glare. 

 

Cas had felt it was perhaps technically cheating to abuse his angelic abilities and use Dean’s fantasies against him in this way, but he was fascinated with how easy it had been to draw a response. He had sensed the heightened interest from Dean as they stood in the room with Raphael. He’d noticed several times in the past that Dean got quite a thrill from dangerous situations, he’d begun to realise that vulnerability was a double edged sword for this beautiful man. 

To be the focus of his arousal, well that was something else. Intoxicating in fact. Watching the pupils expand in the green irises, sensing the quickening of his pulse, and the way he had licked those pouting lips as his eyes flicked over his body. It was all new, and the response of his vessel to the stimuli was intriguing, and extremely pleasurable. Much better than the deeply unsatisfying evening in the brothel. He had felt sorry for Chastity, and wanted to comfort her, but not like he wanted to comfort Dean.

Used as he was to leading his garrison, it was easy to adopt the tone and stance that commanded respect and obedience. And Dean had long been disciplined to follow orders. Taking control and breaking down his defences was simple strategy, a walk in the park for a warrior of his experience. What was enthralling was watching Dean come undone in front of his very eyes, he had reluctantly relinquished control steadily step by step, melting into kisses and writhing under his very touch. 

He was learning all the time, and although he knew it was arrogant to think so, he was quite the maestro on the instrument that was Dean Winchester. He knew Dean wanted to be punished, and pushed and made to obey, he could also sense his desperate desire to please and to be validated, in direct conflict with his need to resist and fight and be ‘strong’.  
Cas had found it so simple to pull it all away, open his vulnerability, strip him bare, draw out his tears, filling the void with his own grace and now he was going to break down the last barrier, and drag an admission of need from those sensual lips, before providing the reward. 

He waited patiently, counting freckles, admiring the gold flecks deep in the green eyes, drinking in the sight and smell of Dean Winchester, near naked, cuffed and kneeling, erection straining at the front of his shorts. He kept his own expression disinterested and cool, as Dean sweated desperation and need from every pore.

 

Dean shifted, wishing to God he had a paperclip, because right now he wanted to punch Castiel right in his smug face. His cheeks flushed with anger, and his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. He wanted to howl with rage. 

 

This was interesting, anger… pouring off him. Still aroused, still wanting to be touched, but blind rage coursing through him like anti-freeze. Castiel smiled to himself, he really had got under Dean’s skin.

 

He clenched his fists and growled. “Dammit Cas, either do it or let me go.”

Again that infuriating eyebrow raised, this time enquiringly. 

“You heard me.” The defiance lost with a gasp as Cas seized his hair, pulling his head back and drawing him closer, lips almost but not quite touching his face, hot breath on his cheek. He swallowed and groaned as pre-cum soaked his shorts.

“No,” Cas said calmly, softening and lowering his grip to the nape of Dean’s neck. “You ask nicely, or you don’t get. I won’t be provoked, Dean.

Dean groaned again, and bit back a sob of desperation. “Cas, please.”

“Please, what?”

Again the jaw twitched, and the inner struggle continued. Dean screwed his eyes shut tight. His skin was burning under Cas’ fingers, and he breathed heavily down his nose. “I…,” he swallowed heavily, “I want you. Please.” He opened his eyes after what felt like an eternity, and then narrowed them as he caught the quick flash of triumph in the deep blue. He was gonna make Cas pay for this, one way or another, he thought.

 

And there was the Dean that Castiel could see under all that pain and worry. Strong, determined, defiant, courageous and utterly beautiful. Cas unclipped the cuffs from the battered wrists, he interlaced their fingers and lifted Dean’s hands one by one, slowly and softly brushing his lips against the broken and mangled flesh of each wrist. 

 

Cas had un-cuffed him, and was softly kissing his wrists, they burned with cold intensity and the blemishes disappeared, leaving only softly white pink skin, on the underside and a smattering of bronze freckles over the soft tan on the other. He unlaced their fingers and grasped Dean’s arms, using his superior strength to hold him as securely as any binding. He pulled him towards him and onto the bed, flipping him onto his back, as if he weighed nothing.

He pinned both hands effortlessly above his head, using his free arm to roam over Dean’s skin, stroking and scratching. He nipped at his jaw, and nibbled his ear lobe, sucked bruises into his neck and lapped at them with tiny kitten kisses. His hand drifted lower, tantalisingly close, but never actually going below the line of his hip bones, as Dean wriggled and writhed, trying for any amount of friction or pressure to relieve his need for contact.

He shuddered, as Cas lowered his head and sucked hard on one nipple, teasing the hardening nub with his lips, before biting it between surprisingly sharp teeth. The gasped “fuck!” was past his lips before he could stop himself, and he bit down on his lip to stop himself begging, but could not hold back the whimpers.

The pressure of the bed on the bruises from his belting added to the mixture of pain and pleasure. The fire in his lower belly was building in waves, and he began to lose himself to the sensation. If Cas keeps this up, I’m gonna cum untouched like some virgin teenager, he thought to himself.

 

Cas was utterly engrossed in his task. Loving every filthy, desire driven noise he was dragging from Dean, who squirmed and writhed beneath him, abdomen undulating in a steady rhythm as he sought desperately for any pressure or contact he could find. Cas wanted to kiss and suck and nibble every inch of the smooth skin beneath him. He circled the anti-possession tattoo, feeling the ridges of ink beneath his tongue, before focussing on the other nipple, determined to drag another muttered curse from that dirty mouth.


End file.
